As the leader now, Aragorn led them through the Western Gates of Moria; once they had put a sizeable distance from it, he allowed them to rest upon a dale, completely open so they could see danger. A gentle breeze kept them cool on the bright day, but the Gates remained dark. Some sat on the ground, overcome with grief; Legolas and Aragorn remained standing.

Even though Rowan didn't physically show her emotions, like the hobbits with tears or Gimli through anger, she was just as distraught. She had known what was coming, thought she had saved Gandalf, but killed him. So much in the second and third part of this story revolved around the wizard. How would The Lord of the Rings change with one of the main characters truly dead?

Fault and hopelessness ate her alive, along with despair.

Aragorn turned to the mourning Company. "Legolas, get them up."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir yelled. He sat beside Gimli, calming him of his anger.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien; there we will find shelter."

Rowan stood to help Pippin to his feet; Legolas helped Merry. The hobbit's face was awash with tears, grief, and disbelief.

He looked up at her. "Is Gandalf truly gone, Rowan?" he hiccupped.

Not knowing how to respond, she just turned away. He took in a breath, shaking with emotion. Rowan figured he had taken her silence as confirmation that the wizard was dead. What could she do? Comfort him with a possible lie that Gandalf would return, like he does in the books and movies, or tell the truth that she honestly didn't know?

Perhaps she had chosen best with remaining silent.

The Company went down the road from the Gates, heading toward the promising golden light far ahead. Once a paved path winding up to Moria, the road under them had turned rough, crumbling with broken stone and overgrown with weeds. When they descended a way, a small lake appeared on the east. Its waters were a dark blue because of the depth, but its surface lay still, unruffled by the wind. Peaceful.

Gimli cried 'Mirrormere' and asked for permission to go gaze into it. Aragorn reluctantly agreed, and Gimli hurried off for the mere, calling Frodo to follow him. Sam shuffled after his friend.

At the name, a line from a song repeated over and over in Rowan's head. Eurielle sung the song Tolkien composed about the line of Durin—well, he didn't create it. 'Song of Durin' was probably an actual song here. Curious about the crown of Durin, she descended to join them by the waterline.

Stopping beside Frodo, she looked out into the waters. The mountains behind them were mirrored, along with a background of the beautiful blue sky. Rowan could feel the icy-cold of the mountains' snowcapped-peaks in the clear image. As she continued to look, jewels deep in the depths glittered like stars.

Now, Rowan understood the song. There wasn't an actual crown lying in the deep, like a golden circlet a king wears.

"There lies his crown in water deep, till Durin wakes again from sleep," Rowan mumbled the tail end of the song.

"You know Dwarvish tales?" Gimli asked.

"Not really; I've just heard that song before."

"I don't see a crown," Sam said.

"It's not a physical crown, Sam," Frodo began. Being the most insightful of the four hobbits, he explained the figurative aspect of Durin's crown to his lifelong friend. "No one will take the rule that Durin created for his crown is unattainable, like the stars. And he will never 'wake from sleep' for that great dwarf-lord has long passed."

"A double-edged sword, that song is," Gimli began. "A pity that no one will become as magnificent as Durin and restore the rich legacy of the dwarves, but also a blessing for none can surpass him."

"I thought as you did, Sam," she said.

The dwarf sighed as he leaned on his walking-axe. "How I wish I could've met him. Just his legacy inspires dwarves of all ages; I can only imagine what he must've been like."

They fell silent for a while, reflecting upon thoughts as the lake mirrored the Misty Mountains. The picturesque image should've instilled hope in Rowan. Even though she could feel the icy darkness of the deep, the jewels shining in the blackness meant hope could be found when there was no light.

But it didn't.

"Come," Gimli said, picking up his axe. "We have lingered long enough. Let us return to the others."

Frodo and Sam immediately followed the dwarf. With one last glance at the quiet waters, Rowan turned to join them.

***

It took many hours to reach the borders of Lothlórien. Other than the occasional stop to rest or eat, the Company did nothing but walk up and down hills and trek across endless flatlands. The movie had made the trip from Moria to the Golden Wood look short.

The darkening sky only increased Rowan's stumbling gait. The length of the day beat down on her, but her guilty conscience weighed heavier.

When the sickle moon rose in the east, dark shadows loomed before them; Rowan heard leaves rustling in the wind, and she sighed in relief. They had finally reached the Golden Wood. Even though she would've preferred they had reached it with the light so she could marvel at the gigantic mallorn-trees adorned with golden leaves, Rowan looked forward to sleeping—she'd ogle the trees tomorrow.

They stepped after Aragorn, leading the way into the woods. Rowan moved past a not-moving Boromir and turned to look at him.

"Boromir?" she asked.

"Is there no other way?"

"What other way would you desire?" Aragorn asked, coming back to join them.

"A plain road—one that is not so shrouded in mystery. In Gondor, we have heard of this perilous land and few who have gone in have come out; those that have didn't escape unscathed."

"Say not unscathed, but if you say unchanged, then perhaps you speak the truth. There is no other way besides going back to Moria, scaling the path-less mountains, or swimming the Great River."

Boromir looked at her. "Rowan? What do you see before us?"

Since things keep altering from the book and the movie, Rowan wasn't sure she could give him an accurate prediction.

"Lothlórien," she said.

The Gondorian captain nodded. "Very well." He turned to Aragorn. "Then lead on."

***

About a mile into the forest, they came upon a stream. It splashed over a fall to the right, hidden in the shadows.

Legolas suggested they wade across the Nimrodel, for its waters restored the weary. One by one, they followed the elf. The gently flowing water only came up to Rowan's ankles, but as it washed over her booted feet, the stream swept away all weariness from her. She trekked across like the others, but she longed to sit on the bank and soak her feet.

When they crossed, the Company sat to rest and eat a meager meal. As they ate, the waterfall became sweet music in the darkness. Legolas ended up sharing a quiet song with them about the maiden Nimrodel, who the stream was named for.

His voice blended with the waterfall and the rustling leaves overhead. He stopped when he said he had forgotten the rest, and they discussed shelter. Deciding it would be better to see refuge from the treetops, the elf got up to climb a tree.

Rowan held in her groan as she stood. Too tired, she didn't look forward to climbing. The hobbits were also in agreement with her, but when Aragorn reminded them of how orcs could find them much easier on the ground, she'd changed her mind.

"Daro!" a voice came out of the darkness above them. Legolas immediately dropped from the tree he had been climbing. Rowan looked up with the others—she couldn't see anything.

A clear voice spoke in the Elven-tongue and Legolas responded. Now, she remembered how the Company reached Lothlórien in the book: Haldir and his elves don't stop them in the woods with their bows drawn, but invited them to sleep in the trees and took them the next day.

"Who are they, and what do they want?" Merry asked.

"They're elves," Sam answered. "Can't you hear their voices?"

"Yes, they are elves, and they say you breathe so loud they could've shot you in the dark," Legolas said.

Sam clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to quiet his breathing.

"They bid me climb up with Frodo, for they have had some tidings of him. The others are to wait until we return."

A ladder tumbled down from the treetops—in the moonlight, the silvery-gray rope glimmered. Legolas ran up swiftly, followed more slowly by Frodo and Sam.

Once they disappeared, Rowan eased down against a mallorn-tree. "This will take a while."

All but Aragorn, who remained on alert, sat like her; Boromir sat beside her.

Being full, the lateness of the hour, her body exhausted, the constant sound of the waterfall, and Legolas' song echoing in her head lulled her to sleep.

***

Rowan didn't sleep long before Boromir shook her awake. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder—Rowan hoped she hadn't had drooled.

Legolas had returned and instructed them they'd sleep upon a talan in a tree next to the one he went up. Merry and Pippin scrambled up the rope and after stowing their baggage in some leaves, Aragorn started up the ladder hanging from another mallorn.

Rowan waited for Gimli to disappear into the shadows of the treetops, then began climbing. Ascending to the high flet took time, but once on top, she found three elves clad in shadowy-gray waiting to hand out fur-cloaks. Even though the wind wasn't tremendous up here, it was still quite cold.

The flet didn't have any walls or railings. She lay down at a distance from the edge, worried about rolling off.

She didn't have long to fret before she fell asleep.